


Dance With Me?

by ForgottenChesire



Category: Dark Was the Night (2014)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, Just the slightest bit of fluff at the beginning, M/M, Slight Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 02:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17757788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenChesire/pseuds/ForgottenChesire
Summary: The little quirk of Donny’s lips is there. Not flirty. Just friendly. Inviting. Kind in a way no one has been since Susan. Donny’s a cop, and his hands reflect that. Calloused from work and holding a gun. They slot into his so comfortably. Just one. Paul looks around the bar. Takes in Claire and her friends, sipping on their drinks or throwing them back in a way that makes Jim and his hunter pals jealous. He tries to find the words to explain to Donny that they don’t do that around here. It just ain’t done.





	Dance With Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god. How can I be the first person to write for this? Am I the first person? Did I overlook others? Anywho, I hope y'all enjoy this fic!

“I don’t dance,” Paul says with a laugh taking a half step away from his deputy. Donny tilts his head, cheeks flushed from Earl’s good stuff. He shouldn't have stayed as long as he has. Should have just told Donny what he needed to and left. Instead, he stayed, had something to drink. He might have flirted a little that caused Donny to ask him to dance.

 

“Come on boss. Just one?”

 

The little quirk of Donny’s lips is there. Not flirty, not really. Just friendly. Inviting. Kind in a way no one has been since Susan. Donny’s a cop, and his hands reflect that. Calloused from work and holding a gun. They slot into his so comfortably. Just one. Paul looks around the bar. Takes in Claire and her friends, sipping on their drinks or throwing them back in a way that makes Jim and his hunter pals jealous. He tries to find the words to explain to Donny that they don’t do that around here. It just ain’t done.

 

The smile starts to dim and Paul hates the fact that he can see fear start to creep in. Wonders if the big city taught Donny to fear silence after a question like the country has taught Paul.

 

“I got two left feet,” Paul warns, “The first dance was the only one I did at my wedding.”

 

“Then it’s a good thing I got two right ones, isn’t it?” Donny says with a laugh that is swallowed up by music as the song that caused his deputy to ask for a dance ends.

 

The next song starts and they begin to sway. Like two friends who are the only ones left and don’t want to be alone on the dance floor. It feels… nice. Having his hands on Donny’s hips as he does. The song is melodic and Paul takes a chance, tugging Donny closer to him. He doesn’t dance often. Wasn’t lying about that at all. Could start to dance more, if it gets Donny looking at him like this more. Slowly, they come together. The New Yorker’s arms are wrapped around his neck loosely and Donny looks five seconds away from leaning his head forward. It'd be so easy to just… Kiss him.

 

The thought jolts his out of the comfort more than the switch from one song to another.

 

“One more?” it's almost a plea. Whispered and only half heard.

 

He should go. There are papers he needs to fill out. Dishes to wash. Laundry to fold. Tears to cry in the comfort of his own house. The hold Donny has on him is loose. He can break away if he wants. Does he want to? Donny is here. Warm and while not soft, not hard. Paul leans in. Enjoys the way that dark brown eyes widen.

 

“Sheriff!”

 

They jump apart like two teens caught necking in the gym. Paul groans as he turns to face Jim.

 

“Yes?”

* * *

That’s how it should have gone. He should have danced. Light streams in from the broken stained glass windows. Colors reflecting and staining an already stained floor. Outside he can hear shouting. Can hear the pops of guns. The Staties finally came. They came. Hot tears pool in his eyes as his chest heaves.

 

They came too late. Too fucking late. He’s staring the best he can into dull brown eyes. They’re starting to film over and the blood is congealed. Should have been him. He’s the one who should have… Shouldn’t be this hard to stretch out a hand. To touch. He wants to touch. He needs to touch, it's the least he can do.

 

It hurts to breathe. It hurts to keep fighting to live. His fingers are so close but so far away. He can hear Donny’s voice in his head. The lilt and timber. The little whisper of pain. Paul chokes on his breath, blood bubbling up and dripping down. He should have danced. Should have kissed Donny. There are so many things he should have done. They flash before his eyes. Like a macabre film, taunting him.

 

_“I shot it in the shoulder.”_

 

Paul hadn’t thought anything of it. The creature, the windiga, wendigo, what have you, was dead. They were safe. They should have been safe.

 

_“I took a whole chunk out of it.”_

 

There were no thumps. No warning. Just the shattering of glass. Screaming. Claire and Ron huddling together as Earl fires shot after shot. The rifle barrel smoking. Susan pushing Adam to Father Asher's waiting arms. If he had just-

 

There is a scream outside. Someone in pain. Someone and not something. Not the creatures. It sends him back. He sees Jim. Gun empty of bullets and cursing. Using the rifle like a club. Hears the scream as he is taken down. The blood that paints the wall. Father Asher is leading the others back down to the basement. Susan stops. Reaches out a hand for Claire as she stumbles. Where is Earl? Donny? Donny is with Father Asher. Donny is safe. Earl… Another scream. Both in memory and outside it.

 

Donny has moved. Adam. Tugging. Trying to get to… Susan. Claire. Good Donny. Pure Donny.

 

_"Maybe that's why I'm here."_

 

Paul closes his eyes but it doesn’t make the memory go away. He should have been faster. Should have aimed better. Donny hadn’t screamed. Just that damned whisper. Adam and Father Asher run. So much blood. Blood. It’s everywhere. He can hear a door slam. They're safe. Can't see anything but blood. Then:

 

Down.

          Down.

                     Pain and tearing of flesh.

 

And that brings him back to the present and the self-hate he feels. He has to live. Has to live for Donny. For Adam, who has to be okay. The shooting has stopped. And he can hear voices, the Staties won. He just has to live. He... He can't let Donny... He can't... His chest heaves again, shuddering and painful waiting for them to come in. Waiting for the rescue, thinking about what could have been changed if he had just ignored Jim and danced with Donny one more time.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> Author Responses
> 
> This author replies to comments.  
> This author, and boy does it feel weird to address myself like this lol, understands that leaving comments can be very stressful. She has a lot of anxiety. So if you don’t want me to answer your comments don’t worry, if you sign it with “~Whisper” I won’t reply. I love all of you so much!


End file.
